


How Dare This Man Be Cute?

by antukini



Series: sleepy does camp nano april 2020 [7]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, Gratuitous use of parentheses, Kinda crack-y, M/M, flaily!madara is so much fun lmao, gratuitous use of "fuck", i love you you funky rounded brackets, italics is my best friend, kinda ig, rated teen for madara's potty mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23530045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antukini/pseuds/antukini
Summary: Fucking—“STOP BEING SO IRRITATINGLY ADORABLE, GODDAMMIT! IT’S NOT FAIR!”As soon as the words left him, he slaps his hands over his mouth, eyes wide and his face flaming. Tobirama’s eyes are wide as well, the whites of his eyes surrounding red irises, mouth ajar in his shock.Fuckfuckfuckfuck—
Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Series: sleepy does camp nano april 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686649
Comments: 11
Kudos: 345





	How Dare This Man Be Cute?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ser_Thirst_A_Lot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ser_Thirst_A_Lot/gifts).



> okay this isn't the main fic of the last prompt fill bUT it's longer than yesterday's please forgive me the procrastinator in me reared it's head I'm sorryyyyyyy
> 
> prompt fill for louiserandom on tumblr who requested: MadaTobi. Gimme some MadaTobi for my soul. Madara, after his brain-to-mouth filter glitches: “STOP BEING SO CUTE, IT’S NOT FAIR!” and is immediately mortified. What exactly Tobirama was doing to appear so unfairly cute is up to your interpretation (he always is tbh, the fiend)
> 
> so uh… this kinda got away from me lmao whoops
> 
> lou i fully blame you for prompting me and leading me to writing an unexpected word count for these idiots i hope you’re happy

It’s been more than a year since the village was built. More than a year since negotiations started between the Senju and the Uchiha, the two most powerful clans in Fire Country, fraught with headaches, arguing, brow-beating, and needling. Months since they laid the foundations and built the growing village of Madara and Hashirama’s dreams, starting an unheard of era of peace after years of war-torn, blood-soaked landscapes.

Madara marvels at how far they’ve come, how much _better_ life has been.

But then there are times he doubts if it was really worth all that effort, Madara wrinkles his nose as he reads through the document in his hands. He inks his brush and puts down his suggestions quickly. Dusk is nearing and he would much prefer to be at home before nightfall.

A quick glance at the corner of his desk for pending paperwork lets him loosen his shoulders. Just two more documents before he went home. Stacks of white catch his attention and he grimaces in sympathy. Tobirama’s desk is still covered in paperwork. Honestly, the white-haired man’s workload is ridiculous, his hands basically in every department. Madara can’t deny how important his contributions have been, though. He’s spent enough time with the man in meetings and their shared office that he’s noticed the breadth of Tobirama’s work for the village. Still, it wouldn’t kill him to delegate some work. Tobirama would be in the office from sunrise to sundown, more often than not even well into the night, if he weren’t directly overlooking his many, many projects.

(The shared office had been Hashirama’s suggestion, thinking it would “foster better relations.” 

And Madara had to concede the point since he and the Senju Ghost developed a professional working relationship—as professional as they could have made it anyway, they’re both assholes and Madara’s self-aware enough to admit it—all for the sake of not letting the village they had busted their asses for months for to just fall into disarray in Hashirama’s work-skipping, irritatingly melodramatic hands. It works out for everyone.

That and to spite that minuscule twitch in Hashirama’s—desperate—beaming smile belayed his doubt that it would work out at all, his eyes void of the trust that they would get along but had been desperate enough to try.

Clearly, Madara and Tobirama are equally competitive enough to take it as a challenge so eat your heart out, Hashirama. They can get along just fine, _fuck you very much_.

If he had been a more paranoid individual he would have assumed that to have been a manipulation but Hashirama’s much too dramatic to do that, right? Right.

Yeah, Madara has doubts about that theory as well.)

The dusk spills through the window, bathing the room in warm light as Madara finishes the last document he had to deal with on his desk. As his hands move to fix his stack of finished work, he can’t help but glimpse at Tobirama.

The warm yellow light of the setting sun is highlighting his admittedly attractive face and had made his usually stern countenance softer somehow; the marks on his face, usually cuttingly sharp, are seemingly less harsh. White hair glows silver-gold from the light, looking invitingly soft; Madara’s fingers twitch as if imagining what those strands would feel like between his fingers. White brows are furrowed in such a way that he looks like he’s questioning the intelligence of whoever wrote whatever he holds in his hand. Pale, deft fingers expertly spin his brush in an absentminded display of dexterity that Madara begrudgingly admired.

And _then_.

_And then_.

Tobirama’s face suddenly pulls into an irritatingly endearing pout that Madara hadn’t been ready for. His ears suddenly lost hearing, the loud thump the papers had made when the hands righting them suddenly let out more force that their owner intended going unregistered in the face of his outrage.

How the _fuck_ does a man look so adorable with just _one measly pout_?! How _dare he_? Who gave him the _right_?

Madara’s heart beats wildly against his chest in a way he couldn’t explain. He stops his paperwork rearranging to free his hands. Now free hands clutch at his chest as if that would calm it down. Disappointingly, it does not. He glares at his chest wishing he could glare his heart into submission. That doesn’t work either.

He chances another look at Tobirama, maybe the supposed cause could also stop it.

Shit, the white-haired bastard had probably felt him staring.

Tobirama raised a brow in askance as if he didn’t know his role in Madara’s current predicament by being cute, fucking hell. The bastard tilts his head, curious.

Madara erupts and takes with it his brain-to-mouth filter.

_Fucking—_ “STOP BEING SO IRRITATINGLY ADORABLE, GODDAMMIT! IT’S NOT FAIR!”

As soon as the words left him, he slaps his hands over his mouth, eyes wide and his face flaming. Tobirama’s eyes are wide as well, the whites of his eyes surrounding red irises, mouth ajar in his shock.

_Fuckfuckfuckfuck—_

Oh, would you just look at that, a convenient window to throw himself out of. He wastes no time looking behind him when he flings himself through it and takes the rooftop path home.

Before he moves far enough that his sensory range wouldn’t feel the Tower anymore, he feels the utter confusion in Tobirama’s usually still, calm ocean chakra. Good, there’s a good chance he hadn’t completely understood what Madara’s mouth had blurted out unauthorized.

Thank the sun he had already completed his work for the day before his mouth had decided to rebel, he doesn’t think he could bear the shame of having to walk back after having just flung himself out the window and risking giving Tobirama a chance to ask for him to clarify what he’d just said. Or, Madara’s grimace deepens a smidgen, his work getting backlogged; catching up on work was a pain and a half that he would rather avoid, thank you.

-

When he arrives home, he immediately drops himself on his bed and screams into his pillow. He vaguely wishes his futon to swallow him whole and murder him immediately, he can’t live with this hanging over his head. He screams on the vague hope that he can scream away his consciousness. He’d be fine with that. He would welcome it just now.

He doesn’t know how long he screams that night, only vaguely registering that Izuna had gotten home and yelling at him to _shut up and let me sleep, dammit, nii-san!_

Madara finally just passes out.

-

The next day is… uncomfortably, _suspiciously_ normal.

He had expected an immediate interrogation when he entered his and Tobirama’s office but nothing happened.

Tobirama is just in his desk filling out paperwork as usual, absorbed in his work as usual, his desk almost completely made of paperwork _as usual_.

Every twitch Tobirama makes, Madara twitches as well, ready to fling himself through the window again, no matter how embarrassing it would be.

Madara is tense the entire day, expecting and waiting for the shoe to drop but it didn’t.

It’s business as usual.

(He doesn’t notice the quick glances red eyes give him, either too conscious of Tobirama’s arms’ movements or absorbed in his work.)

-

The rest of the week continues like that, Madara twitchy and paranoid, waiting for the shoe to drop but it not happening.

(The times he’d seen Tobirama being unfairly cute had risen exponentially as if the universe wanted to shove the Senju’s cuteness at him without his permission.

Every time he thought he was far from the white-haired man, he would suddenly spot him with a child, laughing or smiling or just plain indulgent, a soft look in his eyes. Every time, his heart wanted to come out through his mouth, the fucking would-be escape artist that it is all of a sudden.

Madara is slightly curious about how he manages to still spend time with the village children and finish his ridiculous amounts of work. He’s inclined to say sorcery at this point. Or possibly a new jutsu the man invented, that’s also a viable explanation.)

-

Just his luck, their dear Hokage-sama calls them to his office about their academy project. 

The elders are being stubborn again. Fucking hell, what was new? The wrinkly bastards just won’t move their shriveled asses because of some nonsensical sense of clan pride, nevermind that they are undermining the village that allows them to luxuriate and not starve. Tch.

Tobirama’s movements catch his eyes. He watches as the white-haired crossed his arms at Hashirama’s news—not that it’s at all new anyway—and then _fucking pouted again_.

(Since he sees it much closer, it’s so much more devastating than when he’d seen it across two desks and the office rug.)

(He doesn’t know it but his brain waved his brain-to-mouth filter goodbye this time.)

_How dare he_?? How _dare he_ just _stand there_ and be cute with _his pout and crossed arms and irritated huff????_

“GODDAMMIT, SENJU, STOP BEING CUTE, YOU BASTARD!” His mouth has betrayed him once again and he slaps it in punishment, eyes frantically trying to figure out an escape route.

His escape plans are immediately turned moot before he could even put them into action.

Tobirama is the fastest shinobi of their generation and it seems he’s not inclined to let Madara go without an explanation this time, not when he could tug him back with the iron grip he had latched onto his wrist with, not when the only obstacle between them was air.

With a token futile struggle, he reluctantly turns back, his free arm’s hand slapped unto his traitorous mouth. Fucking mouth.

Madara sees Hashirama’s wide eyes glittering with glee. The tree’s mouth opened to talk but Tobirama interrupts him before he started any drama. He’d say thank you but his heart is trying to beat its way out of his covered mouth at the moment.

“Shut up, anija.”

“But I—” Teary eyes tried their luck swaying Tobirama’s opinion but to no avail.

“Shut up!” Tobirama shuts him down with a chilly glare. “This is between Madara and I so if you will excuse us.” He turns without waiting for his elder brother’s permission, dragging Madara with him. He gets them both out of the office and closes the door just as Hashirama lunges.

Tobirama makes a beeline for their office, hand still on Madara’s forearm in a forbidding iron grip, not even bothering to acknowledge the distinct _bam_ resounding in the door behind them.

When they get to their office, Tobirama immediately turns to face him just as the door closes.

“What did you say?”

Fuck, they’re really going to talk about this huh. Madara’s face felt so hot he wouldn’t be at all surprised if he spontaneously combusted on the spot, right then, right there. He wouldn’t be opposed to that, actually.

“Madara, what did you say about me earlier?” Tobirama enunciates every syllable carefully, holding Madara’s gaze hostage when he finally makes eye contact. How is he so calm about this??

“Uh— I—” Madara descended into quiet incoherent noises, his throat still won’t let him get the words out with his heart still trying to eject itself via his airways, the selfish bastard.

“I’m not going to be mad, Madara.”

Madara takes a fortifying breath, there’s no way out of this. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay _okayokay_.

“I— I called you,” his voice drops to a murmur along with his eyes dropping to the floor, “cute.”

“What was that?” Madara looks back up through his lashes and sees the Senju’s lips twitching as if he’s trying to fight back laughter.

They’re close enough that Madara is sure he had heard him. This asshole fucking—

“I CALLED YOU CUTE, ALRIGHT! CAN YOU LET GO OF ME ALREADY!?” Madara’s breath comes out in rasps, his face feels like its burning.

“No. Not yet,” Tobirama chuckles. “I want to tell you something as well.” Those quirked lips are perhaps single-handedly blinding him, how rude.

Uh. What. _What?_ “What is it then?” the Uchiha asked gruffly, scraping together his remaining dignity, and frowned.

“I find you cute as well. Would you be amenable to dinner?” And then the bastard had the _nerve_ to blush like he had the right to be embarrassed right now—

Wait.

“ _WHAT???_ ”

Tobirama straightens as if to brace himself. “I asked if you would be amenable to dinner. A date, if you would.”

“I—” Madara blusters. He looks at the unfairly cute Senju and finds his mouth running without his permission once again. “I would like that.”

Tobirama’s ears visibly redden. “Good.” He lets out a relieved breath. “Good.” Then he _smiles_. What the fuck—

The moment is interrupted by squealing behind him through the closed door. Fucking—

“Hashirama, fuck off!!”

Hashirama pretends like he doesn’t hear and opens the door with a flourish.

“Oh! My brother and my best friend, together! How cute!!” Barely had he finished his words before a veritable wave sweeps him off his feet and into the wall in the hall, ass over teakettle.

“Shut _up_ , anija.” There’s a twitch in Tobirama’s eye, joined by a murderous gleam that Madara can’t help but find attractive. Shit, he’s already in deep.

Tobirama finally lets his arm go to close the door once again but turns to face him right after. Red eyes hold a question as it flitted over Madara’s lips. Madara feels himself turn even redder. He gives a consenting nod and the Senju surges to meet his lips, as powerful as the waters he commands, elegant fingers running through his hair. Mere moments later, Madara takes lead as he holds the damnably handsome Senju close with an arm around his waist and a hand holding his neck. They break for much-needed air, foreheads touching, breaths mingling.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Tobirama confesses, eyes widening immediately after. It looks like it isn’t just Madara who has been abandoned by his filter. Then the Senju makes an observation. “Are you on your tippy-toes?”

With that, Madara slams his heels back on the floor and crosses his arms in front of him. “See if I accommodate you for kisses again,” he grumbles, turning his head away.

Tobirama chuckles. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just cute,” he says and gives him a flitting kiss at the corner of his mouth, obligingly bending when it’s clear Madara won’t tilt his head up. Madara’s face heats up again, faster than last time if that’s even possible.

Tobirama moves away as Madara starts blustering again, letting out incoherent noises, and then looks back at Madara, interrupting his incoherent ranting with a “Dinner? Later?”

He’s looking embarrassed again like it hadn’t been him who had taken charge and moved their relationship to this stage.

Madara halted his screeching immediately at the blushing sight. He breathes. “Yeah. Yeah…”

With a quick smile, Tobirama turns back to his desk with a subtle skip in his step. The little observation brought a smile to his lips and he turned back to his desk. The stacks of paper make him wrinkle his nose. Oh, well. He lets out a sigh.

This is going to be a long few hours.

At least he had something to look forward to later.

**Author's Note:**

> omake:  
> [months later]  
> kagami: tobira-sensei, mada-shishou, when did you know you like-liked each other?  
> tobirama, a mischievous glint in his eye: well—  
> madara, knowing where this is going to lead: sHUT UP SHUT UP IMMEDIATELY
> 
> yes i unashamedly put some references there from other mdtb fics (madara being on tippy toes was inspired by a scene in raendown's war in times of peace)
> 
> it's like this fill tried compensating for the last two less-than-1k fills lmao
> 
> the tumblr post of this prompt fill is [here](https://antukini.tumblr.com/post/614755122574196736/madatobi-gimme-some-madatobi-for-my-soul-madara)
> 
> [tumblr](https://antukini.tumblr.com/)   
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/antukini)


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